


talk with your mouth full

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a lump in Atsushi’s throat as he watched Muro-chin hold up clothes in front of the mirror, chatting on about it matched his skin tone, or brought out the color of his eyes. </p><p>“How about this one, Atsushi?”</p><p>It must have been the hard candy.</p><p>[In which Himuro works at a men's clothing store, and they're brought together not by fate, but by Murasakibara's desperate need of new pants.</p><p>(Maybe the two aren't mutually exclusive.)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk with your mouth full

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeopleCoveredInFish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/gifts).



> written for ryn (it was only supposed to be a drabble, but then)
> 
> it was for your birthday, but i feel like i should also thank you for giving me this prompt, which gave me an excuse to ramble about the murahimus. ilu

The thing was, Atsushi hadn’t shopped for himself in nearly a decade. Not since he shot up seven inches in a single summer and just kept growing, and growing. Going from store to store to find _something_ that would fit (and it took a while) just wasn’t fun when he wasn’t getting snacks out of it. Then there were all the stares, and the shop employees who were either too intimidated by his height to help or too indifferent upon realizing he wasn’t likely to buy anything from them anyway. So it was his sister who bought all his clothes, or one of his brothers if they were hard-pressed, but none of them were in Tokyo at the moment. The burden was on him.

If he had a choice in the matter he’d wait for one of them to come back, but his boss was threatening to fire him if he didn’t show up for work in pants that weren’t stained by sweat and miscellaneous kitchen spills. He didn’t get it. He just made the pastries. None of the customers ever got to see him so there was no point in looking good, and getting sacked was an empty threat because everything he made became bestsellers.

The boss would still yell at him though, and that got annoying, so here he was. He stuffed his chip bag in his pocket as he entered the first men’s store he saw, since the alternative was getting kicked out for making a mess. As expected, a couple of high school kids tripped over themselves to get out of his way and the employees kept their distance. Nothing new. He sifted through the nearest clothes rack for what must have been ten minutes, not wanting to seem like he didn’t know what he was doing – even though he _really_ didn’t know what he was doing. It was hopeless.

“Excuse me.”

(Or almost hopeless.)

He blinked, then glanced to the side to see an employee standing there, right before he was about to bust out the chip bag. Whatever, he did it anyway, daring the guy to say something. This sad excuse for a shopping trip couldn’t possibly get any worse.

He put a chip in his mouth, ready to get told off, but the guy just smiled, and despite his gloomy face, it didn’t seem insincere. “Do you need any help?”

Atsushi thought about ignoring him, but he was the first stranger in _weeks_ who spoke to him voluntarily, short of those who swore at him when he accidentally knocked into them. And he wasn’t getting anywhere by himself. “I want to buy new pants.”

The guy stared pointedly at the shirt display Atsushi had been aimlessly going through, but chose not to comment on it. He kept the smile and tilted his head, arm extended. “Right this way.”

Atsushi shuffled his feet as he was led to another part of the store, eating and not bothering to hide it.

“What size are you looking for?” The guy asked as they stood in front of a wall of hanging jeans. Atsushi opened his mouth to reply before realizing that he didn’t have the faintest clue. He could text his sister, but the guy was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, licking crumbs from his fingers. Maybe that’d make the guy give up on him already.

But the guy didn’t turn to leave. He just smiled like he had all the time in the world to deal with Atsushi. “I could take your measurements so we can find out, if that’s okay?”

Atsushi chewed slowly. It’s not like he had anything to lose.

“Yeah, sure.”

That’s where it started.

 

#

Atsushi will go home that day with four new pairs of pants and the memory of a tape measure around his waist, of the nimble fingers that mapped out its path, but for now he was still in the middle of the fitting process. The guy’s knuckles brushed against his bellybutton under his shirt; he was close enough for Atsushi to read the characters on his tag.

‘Himuro,’ it said. It was a pretty name.

“There we go,” Himuro said, stepping away and taking the tape measure with him. “Would you mind going into the changing rooms for me? I’ll bring you some things to try on.”

Atsushi wondered if anyone had ever said ‘no’ to him before, with that imploring tone, that affable smile of his. He nodded and did as Himuro asked, even going as far as to putting his chips away. Less than five minutes later Himuro returned with several pairs draped over his arm, placing them one by one on the hook inside the door.

“Try these. And call out if you need anything.”

“Hmm, okay.”

 

#

The pants fit _wonderfully_ , all of them on their first try, so much that the trouble was actually choosing which ones to get. Atsushi thought he might have some sort of magic touch, but Himuro didn’t look surprised at all.

“Cash or credit?” Himuro said, as if reading his mind. It was presumptuous, but he got away with it because of his expression. It was getting a bit worrying.

“Credit,” Atsushi replied around a mouthful of chips. He handed over his (slightly greasy) card and Himuro whisked away to the counter to scan his purchases. Himuro moved like water, quick and clean, and Atsushi barely saw him fold the pants before they disappeared in the bag.

“Thank you for shopping with us.” There it was again, that pleasant smile. It shouldn’t be possible to be this nice all the time. “Have a nice day.”

Atsushi put the card back in his wallet and swept the bag off the counter with one hand. “You’re welcome, Muro-chin.” He turned around and practically ran to the door, shocking onlookers with how fast someone of his size could carry himself.

He couldn’t stick around long enough to see how Muro-chin reacted to the nickname. He might’ve lost his nerve.

 

 

* * *

 

He really didn’t have a reason to go back to the mall so soon. It’s only been three weeks, and despite his efforts towards the contrary most of the pants he bought were still intact and presentable. He thought Muro-chin would be disappointed too, because he worked so hard to find them for him, so he couldn’t use that excuse.

So what could he use?

“I’m looking for a tie,” he said once Muro-chin appeared. He smelled like marshmallows, or maybe that was just the smell of the packet that Atsushi just had, lingering in the air. “It’s my coworker’s birthday on Wednesday.”

The second part was true; the first part only half so, because he certainly didn’t turn up to buy a birthday present. If Muro-chin caught on, he didn’t show it.

“Oh? We should look for a nice one then.” Atsushi followed him to where they kept office wear, suddenly relieved that Muro-chin didn’t know what he really did for a living. Pastry chefs didn’t wear ties to work. Did he even remember how their last encounter went?

“Can you tell me about his coloring? Or what kind of designs he likes?”

“Brown hair. Brown eyes. I don’t know what he likes.”

“Brown is a neutral color. That’s very good. It can go with anything, let’s see…” Muro-chin sifted through the assortment of patterns and color schemes, muttering to himself like Atsushi wasn’t even there. It was a good moment as any to take the plunge.

“I’m glad Muro-chin’s here.”

And then Muro-chin… froze, for a second, like he was startled to hear it. Startled, but unbothered, because the lines of his body turned languid again. “Purple.”

“Eh?”

“This purple tie looks nice, right? It matches your hair.” Muro-chin held it up near his face to compare, and Atsushi had to pause to recover himself, and his ‘story.’

“It’s not for me.”

“Oh, I forgot.” Muro-chin was smiling, but it was different than the one he flashed at the other customers. It was _sneaky_. “I’ll wrap this up for your friend, then.”

Atsushi bristled, but it wasn’t until Muro-chin gave him his card back with a sly, “Please come again, Atsushi,” that he nearly lost it.

Forget what he thought earlier about Muro-chin being nice. He was evil, and he had to go _down_.

 

#

There was something to be said about how Muro-chin’s wickedness didn’t deter Atsushi from dropping in again, this time under the guise of buying a new t-shirt. But when he entered the store, he sensed something amiss.

He saw over the top of everyone’s heads, so it didn’t long to realize that there was no one with shiny, silky black hair inside; Muro-chin wasn’t here.

The earth fell out of orbit a little bit. Atsushi shoved a second lollipop in his mouth, cracking down on the first one; he used up his lunch hour to visit him, and Muro-chin didn’t even have the _decency_ to show up?

Peeved, he turned on his heel to leave, marching towards the entrance—where he ran straight into, well, who else?

“Atsushi,” Muro-chin breathed out, nearly knocked off balance. Atsushi gripped his shoulders to steady him, then hastily drew his hands back again upon feeling Muro-chin’s muscles constrict at the contact. Muro-chin looked so _small_ that Atsushi thought he’d have birdlike bones, but he’d been hiding a lithe frame under his long sleeves.

“Muro-chin wasn’t here,” he said, his mouth still full. At least there was an apologetic quality to Muro-chin’s answering smile.

“I was on my break, I’m sorry, I’m here now.” Muro-chin tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. He probably didn’t do it to appease Atsushi, but that was the achieved effect. “What do you need?”

“T-shirt.” Atsushi cleared his throat, swallowing the remnants of his lollipops.

“You need me to pick out a t-shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“A t-shirt.” Muro-chin looked unimpressed. Atsushi shrugged, contemplating whether he should tear into the chips in his pocket. Obviously, he did.

“You said you’d help me, so do that.”

Muro-chin stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head once, beckoning him to follow. When Atsushi rejected all the choices he brought out (all twenty-three of them), he narrowed his eyes (or so Atsushi guessed, since the left one was hidden under a sweep of hair).

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like it.”

“You said you liked this band.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, let’s try this again. What’s wrong with _you_?”

Atsushi stopped chewing, looking at him. He’d felt himself frowning for the past few minutes, sure, but his displeasure had only just settled in. When he got to the store Muro-chin had been nowhere to be found; it didn’t even occur to him that Muro-chin might not be there. He showed up today, but someday he might not.

“You were gone,” Atsushi said simply. “So I’m upset with you.”

Muro-chin furrowed his brow and touched his lip as he processed this. Then the crease went away, replaced by his minty smile. “You came here to see me?”

Atsushi scoffed, though he couldn’t keep himself from shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I came here for a t-shirt.”

“And you wanted to see me.” Muro chin was an exhale away from the softest laughter, but Atsushi couldn’t even bring himself to be mad.

“Muro-chin’s being annoying. I’m going now.”

“No, wait.” Now he really _was_ laughing, his fingers caught on Atsushi’s sleeve. “I promise I’ll behave. Let’s find you a t-shirt.”

There was a lump in Atsushi’s throat as he watched Muro-chin hold up clothes in front of the mirror, chatting on about it matched his skin tone, or brought out the color of his eyes.

“How about this one, Atsushi?”

It must have been the hard candy.

 

#

When he passed by a few days later, he saw Muro-chin before he even went in the store. He was among the display mannequins, adding accessories to their outfits and looking like a mannequin himself with his smooth skin, his lightly-parted lips.

Atsushi tapped the glass to get his attention. Muro-chin whirled around like a boy band member in the middle of a dance, and his face broke into a grin. He mouthed Atsushi’s name in greeting, proceeding to write a message on the glass. Atsushi tried to follow the trace of his fingertips, to make sense of the characters he was spelling out, but Muro-chin was too fast. He shook his head, motioning for him to come outside.

“I was trying to tell you that I get off in an hour.”

“You’re silly, Muro-chin. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Muro-chin made a face at him, but it was playful. “So do you want to wait for me?”

“Fine. I’ll come get you later.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, Muro-chin blew a kiss at him as he walked off to wander the mall. _If_ he wasn’t mistaken.

 

#

“I don’t want juice.”

“But I’m treating you.”

“Treat me something better.”

“You’re always eating junk food. Sometimes you should have something healthy.”

Muro-chin could be such a pest. Atsushi nibbled stubbornly on his last pocky, grumbling. “Just this one time.”

To be honest, the smoothie wasn’t too bad. It was a mix of four different fruits and twice the size of the cup Muro-chin got for himself. Muro-chin watched his reactions from the corner of his eye, looking smug, but not enough that Atsushi wanted to crush him. Not yet.

“How is it, Atsushi?”

He sucked on his straw as he thought about his reply. “Muro-chin should treat me to smoothies more often.”

He made the right decision, judging from how Muro-chin’s grin widened. “I asked them to triple the syrup for you.”

It showed, Atsushi felt he should say, but he just drank more of it instead. Muro-chin talked some about himself, then he asked him about his job, and Atsushi was too unguarded to give a different answer.

“Pastry chef? I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Muro-chin seemed amused, but he didn’t show signs of remembering the Tie Incident. It wasn’t a big deal, but it would be embarrassing to be caught in a lie by Muro-chin.

Why Muro-chin was special in this regard, he wasn’t certain.

“I think I should be getting home,” Muro-chin said, after an hour or two of directionless strolling. Atsushi nodded his assent, tossing his cup in the trash. So much time had passed, and they’d barely done anything. He was convinced it was another one of Muro-chin’s powers.

“Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“Why are you saying thank you? Muro-chin was the one who paid.”

Muro-chin gave him this fond, strangely-focused gaze; the sheer intensity of it almost turned Atsushi’s insides into a molten lava cake. Muro-chin was more than just evil, he was _deadly_.

“You can bring me something from your bakery next time.”

Already the gears were turning in Atsushi’s head. Would he like a cinnamon twist doughnut, or a pineapple Danish? A Choux cream bread, or would he prefer it in puff form?

He was so intent on figuring out Muro-chin’s tastes that he forgot to eat his last umaibo on the train ride home.

(Suffice to say, that had never happened before.)

 

 

* * *

 

Atsushi didn’t have to think twice about how he was going to spend his next day off. He slept in for only an hour before heading to the mall, timing his arrival to what he knew of Muro-chin’s break schedule.

The sight that welcomed him was a Muro-chin that was two shades paler than normal, with deep violet circles under his eyes, looking just a little bit worse for wear.

Atsushi said as much. “Muro-chin looks like hell.”

At least it made him smile, albeit in a tired, paper-thin manner. “I was on a closing shift last night, and I had to open this morning.” He yawned, and it was like a crack in his usually polished exterior.

Atsushi felt like putting Muro-chin’s boss in a headlock until he gave him improved hours, but Muro-chin didn’t seem like he approved of violence. He settled for the next best thing, handing Muro-chin the paper bag with the pastry he asked for.

“Here you go.” In the end, Atsushi opted for a chocolate éclair. Muro-chin had mentioned spending some time in America, and it seemed like something they’d have a lot of in the west. Maybe Muro-chin missed that sort of stuff.

He peeked in the bag and tilted his head at its contents. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Is Muro-chin calling me a liar?”

“Of course not.” He worried his lip, and Atsushi had an urge to do the same (or better yet, do it for him.) He’d been getting urges like that lately: to stroke his fingertips along Muro-chin’s collarbone, visible when his collar was askew, or to pat Muro-chin’s hair in place after he’d been running around after customers. He still smelled a little like vanilla, but that could just be Atsushi’s head filling in the details.

“I’m busy, so I can’t eat this right now.”

“Oh. Then I’ll go.”  

“Ah, Atsushi.” He glanced over his shoulder and Muro-chin was pulling out his cell phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you what I think.”

Now that he thought about it, it was _weird_ that they hadn’t exchanged numbers before. They were friends, right?

“Muro-chin needs to go back to work or he’ll get fired,” he said once they were done, which made Muro-chin laugh as he headed to the backroom with the pastry. (He’d put his name as ‘Atsushi’ in Muro-chin’s phone, along with an emoticon in a moment of ingenuity; that way Muro-chin would brighten up every time he got a message from him. He was proud to have thought of it.)

 

#

Sleep was weighing down his eyelids when his phone buzzed, and just possibility of it being who he _wanted_ it to be sent his heartbeat into a pop-rock candy frenzy. The bright glare hurt his eyes but he squinted to make out the words anyway.

_It’s delicious, Atsushi._

_I should visit where_ you _work sometime._

The compliment sparked a low burn in his belly, discernible from the ache that was hunger; it was warm, bone-deep, and, when it concerned Muro-chin, not entirely unwelcome.

 

#

Finally, it happened.

He’d ruined one of the no-longer new pants Muro-chin had picked out for him—there were the usual stains, and he’d even managed to singe the hems by accident out of sheer serendipity—enough that he would need to get a replacement for it.

He knew just where to look.

Muro-chin seemed to be expecting him, seeming unsurprised as always when he was told what Atsushi was there for.

“Just like the first time, huh? I’ll meet you in the fitting room.”

Atsushi finished his sweets and licked his fingers nervously as Muro-chin arrived with a pile of pants folded over his arm.

“Are they the right size?”

Muro-chin’s expression was quizzical. “Yes, why?”

“You didn’t check.” Atsushi made a motion with his hands, still sticky from the licorice he just had. “With the tape measure.”

He didn’t miss the breath that Muro-chin drew in, or the slow spread of a smile across his delicate features. “You’re right, Atsushi. How silly of me.”

Muro-chin took the aforementioned object from his pocket, stepping into the stall and into Atsushi’s personal space as he wrapped the tape measure around his waist. (His bellybutton suffered the same ordeal from Muro-chin’s careful knuckles.) Atsushi took the opportunity to encase those deceptively slender shoulders with his palms, hoping Muro-chin wouldn’t feel how clammy said palms currently were.

His throat was acting up too, his tongue going dry like a fish left out in the sun just when he had to speak. “Muro-chin, will you…” Why was this so hard? Guys his age did this kind of thing all the time; even guys his age when he was in _middle school_ got to break hearts up to twice a week. Girls could do it too, judging from the advances Muro-chin had to decline politely from customers and fellow employees alike.

So why couldn’t he?

“There’s this bar I used to work at. I still know the owner.”

Atsushi lifted his gaze from Muro-chin’s mouth to meet his eyes. “Huh?”

“I could get us free drinks, if you’re not doing anything later.”

It took a few seconds, then a scowl dawned on him along with the realization. He can’t _believe_ Muro-chin beat him; he’d been working up to it! “You’re annoying, Muro-chin.”

Muro-chin laughed, crinkle-sweet, and somehow his hands ended up resting on either side of Atsushi’s neck, nearly cupping his ears. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, his thumbs making an acquaintance of Atsushi’s jaw line, his equilibrium going a little off-kilter as he stood on his tiptoes.

The smell of vanilla was overwhelming at this point, and Atsushi wondered hazily if Muro-chin would taste like it, or something else.

(He can't wait to find out.)


End file.
